


I Thought You Knew

by claro



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, written at 3AM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:53:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5394935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claro/pseuds/claro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft tries to take a step forward, Lestrade makes a confession and everything gets a bit angsty</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mycroft was still looking at him, but the hopeful smile was starting to give way to a worried frown.  
‘Gregory?’  
Greg blinked at him. At the amazing man he still couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to be with, no matter how slow their relationship had progressed. He knew he wanted to be with Mycroft, and he had waited, sometimes impatiently, as Mycroft adapted to sharing his life with someone else. They had reached a point where there were some important conversations they needed to have, but he was still startled by Mycroft’s question. He wanted to say that yes, he would move in with Mycroft.  
But that wasn’t what came out though.

#

He just walked out without a word, leaving Greg sitting on his own at the table, the remains of his meal on the plate in front of him, Mycroft’s own plate untouched. Greg felt like utter shite. He wanted to go after Mycroft, to explain, but he knew that Mycroft would not want to be anywhere near him right now. Possibly never again.  
His chest tightened with actual, physical pain, and not caring who could see him, Greg dropped his head into his hands and tried desperately not to cry.

#

Mycroft Homes disappeared off the face of the planet. His house remained dark and his number no longer worked, someone else was using his office and had no idea where he was.  
The morning after that terrible dinner Greg arrived at work to find a box on his desk filled with the few bits and pieces he had left at Mycroft’s place.  
But it also contained everything Greg had ever given Mycroft, from the novelty tie he’d brought Mycroft back from the airport after a visit to his parents, through to the pocketwatch he’d given Mycroft on their first anniversary.  
Mycroft couldn’t be any clearer.  
Which was why the last thing he needed was Sherlock barging into his office announcing his latest case was solved, John trailing behind him looking irritable. His expression changed to worry when he caught sight of Greg.  
‘Jesus, Greg! What happened to you?’  
But Sherlock just waved his hand dismissively.  
‘Oh, John. We don’t have time to talk about the failings in Lestrade’s love life, there are murderers running loose in London!’  
John ignored him.  
‘Did something happen between you and Mycroft?’  
Greg closed his eyes, wishing the two of them would just leave.

#

‘Gregory?’ Mycroft was still looking at him, waiting for an answer.  
Greg felt sick. This was one of those conversations that he’d been working up to having. He knew he should have had it a long time ago, but with every passing day it got harder and harder.  
And now, looking at Mycroft,. who was clearly nervous having just taken, what was for the him the biggest step in his life, Greg knew he couldn’t go forward without being honest.  
The seconds ticked by slowly as Greg tried to find the right workds, but already realising that there was no way to say it that would make it any easier for Mycroft to take. So he just blurted it out.  
‘I slept with Sherlock.’

#

John looked from Sherlock to Greg, who was mortified by Sherlock’s tactless revelation.  
‘How did you even...?’  
Sherlock shrugged, ‘Lestrade clearly didn’t sleep last night, and is still wearing his best suit, which implies that he had dinner with my brother last night, and since he’s now sitting in his office, unshaven and with a box of his belongs on his desk, it’s obvious that dinner did not go well. Judging by his appearance he wasn’t expecting things to turn out the way they did, so clearly he was not the one to call things off, and given Mycroft’s recent weight gain and increasingly smug expression, he’s clearly been content with their relationship. So, something happened last night that was enough for Mycroft to end a relationship he’d clearly been planning on making more permenant, so-’  
‘Shut up Sherlock!’ John growled, then his expression softened slightly, ‘He really didn’t know?’  
Greg lifted his head and considered the smaller man.  
‘You knew?’  
‘Of course he knew,’ Sherlock said, ‘I tell my John everything.’  
‘You do now after that little chat we had about you keeping secrets, so you can stop looking so smug, ‘John pointed at him and Sherlock immediately lost interest in the conversation.  
Greg was frowning at him, ‘And you don’t mind?’  
John shrugged, ‘Why should I care about who he slept with before me?’  
Knowing John’s past reputation Greg had to concede that it would have been a bit hypocritical of the doctor. But that just sent another pang of grief through Greg. Perhaps if he’d been honest with Mycroft from the start then they too might have the same easy, rational conversation as the couple standing in his office.  
‘Give him time,’ John advised, but Greg shook his head.  
‘You don’t know him, John.’  
‘But maybe-’  
‘John, perhaps you should just defer to Lestrade on this matter, although I wouldn’t make a habit of it,’ Sherlock set the papers he was holding back on Lestrade’s desk, ‘Mycroft, for all his pomp, is deeply insecure and has invested his self worth in his relationship, which is what happens when people allow themselves to be taken over by sentiment.’  
‘Sherlock,’ John warned, ‘We talked about this.’  
‘He’ll be investing in cake again,’ Sherlock went on.  
John grabbed Sherlock by the sleeve and propelled him out the door, ‘Home for you. Greg, I’ll just put him in a cab and then I’ll be back.’  
Greg shook his head. He didn’t want company. He wanted Mycroft. He wanted to explain to Mycroft that it was just once during one of his many separations from his wife, long before he ever met Mycroft. Wanted to tell him that if he’d known that Mycroft was going to come into his life then he wouldn’t have ever looked at anyone else. And he certainly wouldn’t have slept with the man’s younger brother.  
He stood, lifting the box from his desk and following John through the office he caught the eye of one of his team.  
‘I’m going home,’ was all he said, his mind entirely focused on going home and getting as drunk as possible to try and dampen the ache that hadn’t eased at all since Mycroft walked away from the table.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft set his briefcase down on the floor and slowly unbuttoned his jacket. It had been a week, but already the weight loss was obvious. Anthea hadn’t mentioned it, but she gave him a stern look every time Mycroft left his lunch untouched.  
‘Is the Detective Inspector requiring a car for this evening?’ Anthea asked on the first day.  
Mycroft had forgotten about the function that evening. Unusually he’d been looking forward to it. But only because Gregory had been due to attend with him and Mycroft had wanted to show his partner off. His live-in partner.  
‘No,’ he said eventually, ‘Mr Lestrade will not be frequenting here from now on.’  
Anthea cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.  
‘And can you arrange to have a package delivered. This morning, please.’  
She nodded once, ‘Yes, sir.’  
Now, one week later, Mycroft was exhausted. He didn’t like the hotel he’d been staying in, but it was close to his new office and the staff were discreet and left him alone. Part of him wanted to go home, to sleep in his own bed. A bed that he’d hoped would become Gregory’s too.  
But that wasn’t going to happen now.  
If it had been anyone except Sherlock then Mycroft wouldn’t care. Typically, though, his younger brother had got there first, and that was a mental image that Mycroft couldn’t shake.  
Gregroy had kept it a secret!  
That stung more than anything else. He’d had years to tell him. And oh, Sherlock must have loved that, watching him, smug in the knowledge that he’d had Gregory too. Had him first, revelling in the fact that Mycroft didn’t have a clue.  
He’d been right all these years. Caring wasn’t an advantage. Every relationship he’d ever had ended badly, but with Gregory it had been different, and he’d allowed the man into his life to the point where he’d wanted to share every aspect of it with the other man.  
Laying away in the middle of the sixth night Mycroft’s mind started to ask if it wasn’t so bad, if having the detective inspector could overrule the knowledge that he’d been with his brother.  
That was the first time he’d thought that and he lay in the dark thinking it all over, which only made the absence of Gregory worse.  
He rolled over and curled up on his side, wondering what Gregory was doing.

#

Greg was, at that same moment, very drunk and fiddling with his keys in an attempt to open his front door. He’d left John at the pub half an hour earlier and clambered into a cab. He’d been suspended for arriving for work still drunk and had commiserated by going out and getting even more drunk.  
John had expressed worry about it. Greg hadn’t been sober for a week, but it was the only thing that took his mind off Mycroft for a while.  
The door finally opened and he staggered inside. He didn’t bother with the lights, instead just collapsed on the sofa and fell asleep.

#

Mycroft looked down at the sleeping man and frowned.  
‘Gregory?’ he said loudly enough to stir him, ‘Would mind explaining why you are sleeping on sofa?’  
Gregory blinked up at him, confused, and took a second to get his bearings. His face flushed and he ducked his head, hands scrambling to find his shoes.  
‘Sorry,’ he managed, not meeting Mycroft’s eye, ‘I thought it was my place. I was really...pissed and....’ he trailed off, aware that Mycroft was still looking at him.  
As he walked to the door he tried to find something to say, feeling Mycroft’s hard gaze drilling into his back.  
‘Perhaps you should leave your key, Gregory.’  
The lance of pain across his chest at Mycroft’s cold tone caused Greg to stagger.  
‘I’m sorry, Myc,’ His voice was small and broken, and he didn’t look back at Mycroft as he let himself out.

#

‘You broke into his house?’ John looked like he wanted to laugh.  
‘Is it really breaking in if you have a key?’  
‘I break in all the time,’ Sherlock didn’t look up from his lap top.  
‘I thought you agreed to stop doing that after that time you-’ Greg stopped, suddenly self concious, ‘That door was locked for a reason,’ he finished lamely.  
John couldn’t stop his smile this time.  
‘So,’ Greg went on, ‘I thought I’d come and say my farewells before Mycroft has me deported.’  
It was not missed by anyone how Greg’s voice choked over Mycroft’s name.  
‘Hey, did he ever kidnap you?’ John asked suddenly.  
‘How do you think I met him?’  
‘Well, I suppose that’s a good story to tell the grandkids.’  
There was a sudden silence as John realised that he said.  
‘Oh god! I’m so sorry Gerg, I didn’t....’  
‘John,’ Sherlock shook his head, ‘That was a bit not good.’  
‘Fuck off, Sherlock.’  
‘It’s fine, John.’  
But the mood was broken and after a few more minutes of awkward conversation, Greg set his cup down and stood to go. John walked him to the door.  
‘How are you doing? Really?’  
Greg just shrugged.  
‘Why don’t you talk to him? Properly, I mean. Not after you’ve broken into his house.’  
That, at least, got a slight twitch of a smile from Greg.  
‘And you’re really okay with it?’ He asked John.  
‘It is what it is,’ John shrugged, ‘Like I said, it’s over,’ John was thoughtful, ‘It would be different if you two were eyeing each other over dead bodies.’  
‘Wish Mycroft could have seen it like that.’

#

Back at his flat, Greg reclined on the sofa with a beer, flicking through the channels, looking for anything that would catch his attention and take his mind off where he was. He’d moved into the flat after his divorce and had never bothered to make it overly homely. The walls were cream and bare and the rooms were tiny. His whole flat would fit in Mycroft’s office alone.  
Thinking about Mycroft hurt.  
When he’d first met Mycroft he’d been in awe of the graceful redhead. Long limbed and soft with an intense expression and a smile that was instinctively suggestive. And, to be honest, getting kidnapped was sort of sexy.  
His marriage continued to spiral downwards and ended on Christmas Eve, of all days, when Sherlock made his announcement. Two days later he was in Mycroft’s office complaining about Sherlock retaining crime scene evidence. Again.  
Mycroft had been curt and cool as normal, and Greg made the meeting as quick as possible, just wanted to get home and continue feeling sorry for himself. But, just before he turned to go, Mycroft had looked up at him, his expression intense.  
And in that look everything changed.  
Greg finished his beer and contemplated getting another one, but on his way through the kitchen he changed his mind and retrieved the bottle of whisky from the cupboard, and, not bothering with a glass, went back to the sofa.  
When half the bottle was gone, Greg heaved himself up and staggered to bed, peeling off his clothes as he went. He didn’t bother searching for a clean teeshirt to wear, he just stripped off and climbed between the cold covers and, shivering slightly, he pulled the quilt close around him and slept.

#

Mycroft hadn’t looked at the papers in front of him for hours. It had been a shock coming home and finding Gregory on his sofa like he belonged there. And even while he was angry, a small part of him wished he’d come back to find Gregory in his bed.  
That was what was worrying him. He was angry and hurt, but he still cared for him. If he didn’t then he wouldn’t feel so....so.  
He leaned forward, his head in his hands and tried to sort through his thoughts.

#

Greg woke up in the dark hours of the early morning, warm and comfortable with an arm draped heavily around his waist. When his brain realised that, he jerked away and tried to roll, but the arm tightened around him.  
‘Don’t turn around,’ Mycroft’s voice was soft in his ear and Greg’s heart lurched.  
‘Myc?’  
‘Gregory, please, I just need to ask you something and then I’ll go.’  
‘W-what?’ Greg didn’t know why he was whispering.  
‘Do you have feelings for my brother?’  
‘Well, I care about him, but...no. Not like that. Never like that.’  
‘Never?’  
‘Never,’ Greg’s voice was raspy.  
‘And since we...has there been anyone else?’  
He could tell how much it took out of Mycroft to ask that question, but the Mycroft knew, he knew what Greg’s ex wife had put him through, how much he had been hurt.  
‘Is that what you think of me?’  
‘Please, just-’  
‘No! No, Mycroft, it’s only been you.’  
He felt Mycroft’s breath against his skin as Mycroft lay his head against Greg’s shoulder, and when he spoke it was so quiet that Greg had to strain to hear it.  
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’  
‘I thought you knew.’ Greg said simply.  
‘Why would I know?’  
‘You know everything.’  
His frankness drew a soft huff from Mycroft, who fell silent again.  
Greg listened to the other man’s breath in the darkness.  
‘Myc,’ he said eventually, ‘Did you break into my flat?’  
‘I thought that’s we did now.’  
Greg snorted, ‘Can I roll over now?’  
‘No,’ Mycroft tightened his grip, ‘I’m comfortable. Go to sleep.’  
Greg wanted to argue, wanted to talk it through. But instead he just nodded, hearing the exhaustion in Mycroft’s voice, and wondering when the last time the man had slept. He laced his fingers through Mycroft’s, holding tight so the man couldn’t go anywhere, and then allowed his eyes to fall closed again.

#

Mycroft had arrived at Gregory’s flat not knowing what he was going to say, only wanting to know why. It was late and there was no sound from inside Gregory’s flat as Mycroft cautiously let himself in. He’d knocked, but hadn’t really expected an answer.  
All the lights were still on and the bedroom door was open. For a second his heart clenched that Gregroy wasn’t alone, but one cautious step into the flat and he could clearly see Gregory curled up alone on what had been Mycroft’s side of the bed.  
From the opened bottle on the coffee table it was clear that there wouldn’t been the long and heartfelt conversation that they needed to have, and for a moment Mycroft was going to turn and leave again, but something made him sigh and step silently into the bedroom to turn the light off. He glanced down at Gregory and could only stare.  
Mycroft had a habit of leaving his pyjamas under the pillow, and in his sleep, Gregory had clearly sought out an errant pair, fisting his hands into the material and clutching them to his chest as he slept. Mycroft watched Gregory for a long time before turning out the light. He was going to leave and return in the morning, but at that moment Gregory gave a small movement in his sleep and Mycroft had the sudden longing to wrap his arms around him.  
So that’s what he did.  
When Gregory drifted back to sleep again, Mycroft thought about the conversations they would have in the coming days. And perhaps it wouldn’t matter, and perhaps it would. But for the first time since he’d left Gregory sitting in that restaurant, Mycroft didn’t just want answers. He wanted them to be okay.  
And he wanted to make sure that Gregory’s ugly sofa had a terrible accident before Gregory had a chance to move it into Mycroft’s house.


End file.
